She Was More Than Okay, But I Pushed Her Away
by LoveLikeYou'reNotBroken
Summary: What's one more disappointment to add to the list?


Roger absentmindedly played a few cords on his fender, trying to come up with something relatively new. No matter how many hours he played and how hard he tried, it always ended up sounding like Musetta's waltz.

Dammit.

"Everything okay, honey?" Angel called from across the loft, hearing the rocker sigh in annoyance.

He nodded weakly, mind in another world. Angel came over and sat on the couch next to him, looking at him knowingly.

"Thinking about Mimi?" she asked, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

"What makes you say that?" he asked innocently, a little taken back by how dead on she was.

She shrugged nonchalantly, crossing her legs, and smiling at him. "That's the same look she has on her face when I catch her thinking about you."

Roger gave her a small smile back, trying to hide how happy those words made him. It had been a few weeks since New Year's Eve, and though he and Mimi spent as much time together as possible, when he thought about it, he didn't really know a damn thing about the girl.

She was nineteen years old, obviously gorgeous, and had the biggest heart he'd ever encountered. She was full of life and optimism, and for someone who could possibly die any day from HIV, she never had a negative thing to say.

But it just didn't add up to him. She had been living in alphabet city for quite some time. Enough to have her job at the Cat Scratch for a few years, and to be living in her apartment for a while. She was nineteen and yet, had clearly been on heroin for longer than she'd ever admit. She never spoke of anything bad happening to her; everything that came out of her mouth was hopeful and full of the 'no day but toady' bullshit being spewed at him left and right.

And despite not knowing the answers to every question he had, he still couldn't deny his growing affection for the girl. She made him smile, something he was positive he had lost the ability to do. There was something about her that made him want to keep fighting. To forget about throwing in the towel and calling it a day and letting life pass him by.

She made him happier than he ever had been. She reminded him why he went through withdrawal for so long to be able to live life again. She brought out a side of him he'd never seen before.

She _terrified_ him.

And like the inability to look away from a car crash, he couldn't help but let her pull him in time and time again.

"Angel?" he paused, waiting for her to glance at him before taking a deep breath and continuing. "What was she like? Ya know, before the smack and everything." He asked quietly, scared of the answer and worried Angel could see right through him.

She smiled sadly, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I wish I knew. When I met her, she had already been using." He looked away and resisted the urge to wince, wishing the little girl who captivated his attention wasn't as broken as he was. "She was sixteen. She had been working at the Cat Scratch already, just over four months. She had been using for only a couple weeks. She would get it for free from girls at the club; at that point she didn't really know what it was. They told her it would make her feel good and that's all she cared about."

"But why? How'd she end up here? What happened that she needed it?" the questions flew from his mouth and he knew there was no way he could walk away without answers, whether he got them from Angel or Mimi herself.

Angel sighed and got more comfortable on the couch, as Roger involuntarily brace himself. "Mimi is one of the most mature, kind, responsible people I've ever met. But at the end of the day she is still a kid." She shrugged and smiled sadly. "She grew up too young and too fast. We all had our time to be reckless. Mimi didn't. When she should have been enjoying life and making the most out of the last years she had as a teenager, she was shooting up, getting diagnosed with HIV and becoming a stripper." Angel finished with an aggravated eye roll but Roger had a feeling she was irritated at how unfair the world had been to Mimi than with Mimi personally.

He was quiet for a while, staring off into space, trying to envision Mimi as a little girl without a care in the world and happiness etched into every fiber of her. He couldn't quite get the image; he's never seen her unhappy, but the purity surely wasn't there. That was the first thing that intrigued him, she was so beautifully sensual and could easily make any man fall to his knees, but she was never trashy. Mimi was hot, it was that simple. But there was a grace about her he just couldn't explain.

"She never had a good relationship with her family." Angel continued, quieter this time, eyes tearing ever so slightly. "Her dad was hardly ever sober, if he was even around. He'd hit her and her sister. Her mom was a complete bitch." Roger looked at her, surprised at the venom in Angel's voice. She looked over at him, smirking. "She was, completely ruined Mimi's self-esteem too. Always telling her how fat she was and how disgusted she was to call Mimi her daughter."

"Is that why she hardly ever eats?" he asked quietly.

Angle nodded, "You think she's skinny now? I've seen pictures from when she was really little," she shook her head sadly, "It was _medically _concerning. For years her mother wouldn't _let_ her eat. Eventually Mimi got the thoughts so far imbedded in her head she couldn't think any other way."

Roger was quiet for a few minutes, surprised by the sudden anger coursing through him. Angel gave him a minute with his thoughts, she knew this was hard on him, they all did. Whenever they all had dinner together everyone would politely turn their heads to avoid the aggravation on Roger's face as Mimi refused to swallow anything more than beer.

Angel knew if Mimi lost so much as another ounce Roger was going to hold her down and make Mark force food down her malnourished throat.

Roger sighed, fingers pushing the hair out of his face. He wasn't sure why he felt so protective over her, he knew she could take care of herself; she had confidence oozing out of her. But so did he at one point, and goddammit if he didn't want Mimi to be as miserable and broken as he was two years from now.

"What happened when she came out here?"

"Working at Catscratch was the best and worst thing for her. It helped her feel better about herself, just barely, but enough for her not to do something drastic. But she's _surrounded_ by drugs there." Angel sighed sadly.

"Has she ever tried to get clean?" he wondered, hating the images of a shaking and shivering Mimi during withdrawal flooding his mind.

"I've tried to help her a few times." Angel trailed off.

"And?"

"No luck." She shook her head. "She'd go behind my back each time, thinking I wouldn't notice."

Roger ran his hand through his hair, his heart breaking over the pain the young girl had to suffer through. "I can't believe it." He whispered, Angel silently rubbed his arm, letting him think. "You know what happened with April, right?" it wasn't really a question; Roger knew Collins had filled Angel in on everything.

Angel nodded, a comforting smile on her mouth, encouraging him to continue. "As much as it sucks, I grew up, ya know? I finished high school, I got to be a kid. She's so _young_, Angel."

She nodded again, sadness seeping into her eyes. "I know, honey. Believe me, I know. But she's got the best attitude I've ever seen. Sure, she's a little impulsive, but if you ask me, I think it's better to be a little more spontaneous than to let things pass by." She gave him a pointed look that he had to let out a small laugh at.

"Duly noted." He muttered, smiling a genuine smile, Angel had that effect on people. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, giving him a small side hug.

"She trusts you, ya know." Angel whispered, relief for her friend filling her words. He pulled back to look at her questioningly, she shrugged, "She hasn't had the best boyfriends, they always ended up using her, especially after finding out where she worked." Angel scoffed, disgusted. "Unfortunately, she's been hit more than her fair share of times."

Roger's eyes narrowed and anger pulsed through him again, this time head towards the fists his hands were in, itching to connect them to each of her ex-boyfriends jaws. Mimi, in addition to being so young, was so _small._ No matter how strong she was, or how well of a fighter, any average sized man could easily overpower her and the thought made Roger sick.

"Don't worry about that now," Angel smiled, "You're the first boyfriend she's ever had that I can honestly tell her I approve."

He laughed for the first time since the conversation. "Well, I'm flattered."

"You should be! You know how hard it is for me to accept people." She teased, giggling when he rolled his eyes playfully. She got quiet and looked at him cautiously. "Roger?" He turned his head in confusion at her sudden hesitant mood. "Please don't hurt her, she's strong but she can only take so much more pain in her life."

"I'm gonna try my hardest to avoid that." He answered honestly, a little surprised at how quickly the words came out. Angel didn't look the least bit surprised and it only proved his theory that she knew all of them better than they knew themselves. She smiled big and pulled him in for a hug that he returned with his own smile.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Collins came over to grab Angel, after saying goodbyes and smiling at the small wink Angel sent him, Roger leaned back on the couch and went back to his guitar. Notes flowed through the loft, inspiration hitting him for the first time in ages, the melody soft and sad for a little girl who had her childhood ripped away from her unsuspecting hands.

He closed his eyes and let the music override the rest of his senses. He thought about what Angel asked him and sighed, knowing the last thing he wanted was to be another thing she looked back on that let her down.

**. . . . . . .**

**. . . . . . . **

He sees her walk out of the back door of the club, laughing with a stick thin girl that looked like she should be in middle school. Her hair was sickeningly bright blonde; she had jeans on that were like a second skin and a low cut top with a hem that barely covered her chest. Mimi had thrown snug jeans and a tank top over her "work clothes" and he made a note to never complain about what she wore home again after Blondie.

A year ago he would have been sitting at a table in the front each and every night, not giving the dancer's ages or personalities a second thought, but after being with Mimi and knowing all the things that could be going on beneath the glitter and whore makeup the thought of going inside made his stomach churn.

He looks at her with pity and slight disgust as she pulls Mimi in for a hug and kisses her cheek before heading off down the street. Mimi turns to him, eyes brightening immediately and a smile stretching across her whole face. He throws his cigarette to the concrete and stays leaning against the wall as she walks over to him.

She wraps her arms around his neck and he leans down to place his mouth on hers. She tastes like cigarettes and strong liquor and he doesn't know if it makes him sad or relieved that she can't dance unless there's alcohol in her system.

She pulls back first, and he leans his forehead on hers, his arms still tight around her thin waist. "What are you doing here, baby?" she whispered, eyes staring into his. "I didn't know you were coming."

He shrugged and smirked, "I figured I'd relieve you from the loneliness you feel when you're not with me."

She rolls her eyes and mutters "cocky bastard" under her breath but still flashes him a bright smile and links their fingers together before walking off towards the loft.

They walk a few blocks in comfortable silence, hands still linked, when the words come out of his mouth before he can stop them. "Meems, how old was that girl you were talking to?"

"The blonde one?" she asks, avoiding his eyes, she knows damn well who he's talking about and he can tell she doesn't want to answer.

He nods, eyes glancing at her from the side. "She just started a few weeks ago," she spit out, as if that would justify her youth. Realizing that doesn't answer his question, she whispers "Sixteen." And braces herself for his rant that she's been in contact with many times but has yet to get used to seeing him full of rage.

He doesn't know why that pisses him off as much as it does, but he's suddenly filled with anger and, as usual, he's got nowhere to put it so Mimi will have to do. Her hand tenses in his and she's babbling before he can explode. "You know that's not really an uncommon thing, babe. My boss is always hiring younger girls so-"

"So what?" he cuts off, yanking his hand from hers and stopping so he can look her in the eye. "So they don't care getting touched by horny, drunk men? So they have no problem fucking every asshole that walks in there? So they don't realize what they're doing when they're handed powder and a needle?"

Her eyes are wide and there's a hint of fear in them. He hates himself for ever making her scared of him, but _goddamnit_, does she not see the sickness in this? Realization dawns on her and its make him sick to know he's satisfied by the amount of guilt washing over her face.

"Roger, what do you want me to say?" she whispers, voice barely cracking, but enough for something in his mind to tell him to reel it in. "That place isn't made for following dreams, alright? It's for making a living when you have no other choice. Yes, she's on drugs and yes, that place is disgusting and filled with cheap girls who will do anything for a dollar." She shrugs helplessly and his heart breaks seeing her try so desperately to soothe him. "But they're not me. Every time you see someone I work with you think that's how I am and I'm _not_."

She takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around herself, more for comfort than warmth, his arms twitch in response. When did not having her in his arms make him feel so empty?

She continues, her voice sounding even smaller than before. "I know you hate that I work there. And most of the time I hate it too, but it pays my bills. Don't worry about the other guys in there, okay? At the end of the night, they go home to their oblivious wives and I go home to you. That's the only place I wanna be. I'm yours, and if you don't believe me, who else do you think I'm giving up drugs for? You're the one holding me through withdrawal. I'm not going to back to smack, and I'm not going to cheat on you because I work at Catscratch."

A half a minute goes by and she's looking anywhere but his eyes. She shifts from one foot to another, her inability to stay still and constantly fidget puts a hint of a smile on his face. Just as she's about to walk home by herself and try to get through to him in the morning, he steps forward and wraps his arms protectively around her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the side of her neck, placing a kiss there after he chokes the words out. The initial surprise she felt after he pulled her to him melts away and she wraps her arms around his neck.

They stay like a for a few minutes, her hoping he'll realize she's not going anywhere and him trying not to let her slip away. She pulls back slowly, looking him in the eye, before placing a soft and lingering kiss on his lips. His eyes meet hers and she lets out a silent sigh of relief that the argument is avoided for now.

They start off for the loft again, his arm holding her to him around her shoulder, hers snug around his waist.

She bites back the bitter knowledge that sooner or later all of their arguments they've left unfinished will bottle up and explode and that'll be the end, of their relationship and both their sanities.

He ignores the disturbing picture of a lost little girl covered in more glitter than clothing being handed a needle, and ignore the nausea that washes over him at the picture of her injecting the poison into her veins at the mere promise of feeling good.

She thinks they're relationship's too young to have these make-or-break kinds of issues.

He knows she was too young to feel so alone.

**Instead of working out these thoughts, they walk home in silence, both willing to put off the horrendous fallout they know is coming for another day. **

**. . . . . . . **

Loud voices float through the Life Café. Laughter, freedom, and comfort surround the seven friends gathered at their usual table.

After their orders are placed, with minimal gagging at Collins' choice, Mimi shifts uneasily as she looks at anything but Roger after only ordering a beer. The arm wrapped around her shoulder, squeezes her gently and she turns to face him, giving him the most innocent expression she can muster.

"Meems, you haven't eaten all day." He whispered firmly, giving her the I can see right through you look he'd been giving her more and more often.

She shook her head dismissively, a small smile on her lips, reassurance oozing out of her. "I'm fine, really. I'm not hungry."

He stares at her pointedly, but doesn't say anything else. Her confidence falters at his intense stare, but looks away gratefully when an oblivious Maureen calls her name.

He ignores the sympathetic looks is sending him.

He can't ignore the feeling of her ribs through her thin shirt.

**. . . . . . . **

"What the fuck is this?" he seethes, throwing the small bag of powdered poison on the metal table.

She rolls her eyes and glares, but he can tell she's not mad. She looks ashamed. Weak. Lost. Scared. Slightly disgusted, with him or herself, he can't tell. But not mad.

"You know damn well what it is, Rog." She spits back, standing her ground, her chin up a bit too high to be taken seriously.

"Why, Mimi? _Why?_ Why the fuck would you start up again? You were doing good!" his face is red, his head is pounding and he wants to hit her.

"Roger, that's a full bag, I didn't use any of it." She attempts to justify and if he didn't know her so well he probably would have apologized and locked them in his room for a few solid hours or I didn't mean to accuse you/I believe you/I'm so proud of you sex.

But he _does _know her and the thought of him apologizing right now makes him sick.

He humors her regardless.

"Alright, Mimi. If I hadn't found the bag, would you have used it?" he challenged, hating that he felt more like her father lately than her boyfriend.

She's quiet, but the stubborn challenge in her own eyes tells him all he needs to know. "I can't believe this." He mutters, turning his back to her and knotting his fingers through his hair, desperately torn between ripping it out and turning around and ripping her hair out instead.

"Why do you always do that? Act like you're so above withdrawal and drugs. You did them too, Roger." She hissed, her voice full of venom.

He spins to face her, eyes blazing, "You think I don't fucking remember? Withdrawal's a bitch, but at least I could do it." He knows he's being far from fair, but _fuck_, he's always been secretly jealous of her strength and undeniable willpower.

"You know I'm trying!" she shouted desperately, and he laughed dryly in response.

"Yeah, that's why you always have a new bag of smack when you come back from working at the whore house."

Her eyes narrow and she glares back at him and he knows the fight is very quickly abandoning the issue at hand and is going to turn into their famous game of 'who can be meaner and make the other snap first'.

"Drugs didn't work out so great for you either, Rockstar." She says evenly, calmly. Like she's been rehearsing the line for weeks.

"Exactly, Mimi." He replies firmly. "I know what it can do to people, I've _seen_ it. I don't want it happening to you."

She shakes her head, eyes wet, sad smile on her mouth. "You got over April, you'll get over me."

She waits for him to deny it. For him to tell her that he can't get over her, he's tried. That it's different. That he never loved April like he loves her.

Instead he says nothing, his inner demons once again forbidding him to speak. She nods sadly, grabs her coat and walks out the door.

She leaves the smack on the table.

**. . . . . . . **

"For the love of god, Maureen! You can't act like that in public and expect not to get arrested!" Joanne complained, walking into the Life and plopping down at the table where the rest of the bohos were already seated.

The diva simply rolled her eyes in response and smirked, before diving into a very animated reenactment of her incident with a very pissed off bartender and her girlfriend that almost amounted to a bar fight. Joanne sat quietly and pouted, a smile leaking through every now and then.

Collins had tears coming to his eyes by the end, but controlled his laughter long enough to high five Maureen on a commotion well done.

Joanne, Mimi, and Angel were shaking their heads in disbelief and admiration, while Roger and Mark couldn't decide whether to laugh or pity Joanne for having to take care of Maureen.

After the laughter dies down, Maureen still looks awfully proud of herself. Mimi shakes her head and chuckles again, before taking a drag from the cigarette she took from Roger's hand.

"Damn, chica. If the thought of prison doesn't scare you what does?" Mimi laughed, handing the cigarette back to Roger's waiting hand and giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Quicksand." She answers automatically, causing everyone to look at her strangely. "Oh, like you've never wondered what that would be like?" she sighs and flips her hair.

Mimi snorts and Roger nudges her side with his shoulder. "What about you, missy? You're not exactly scared easily either."

She tightened her arm around his neck and snuggled further into his lap, "I ain't afraid of anything, baby." She winked, kissing him lightly.

He smirked and kissed her back, parting only when they got too into it and caused their friends to throw miscellaneous fries and straw wrappers.

The rest of the night goes on as expected. They dance on tables, manage to anger nearly everyone inside, drink their fair share of alcohol, Roger and Mimi as well as Collins and Angel make out heavily in the corner when they think no one's looking, Mark gets every second on film, and Maureen finds a way to show her ass.

Later, after they've gotten kicked out at closing time, and for the record, not the actual time they were asked to leave, Roger and Mimi collapse on her bed, eyelids heavy and arms tight around the other.

Right when Roger is about to fall into a deep sleep, he hears her. "Please don't forget me."

His eyebrows furrow, eyes still closed, he tilts his head so his lips are on her shoulder, "What, Meems?"

"That's what I'm afraid of. I'm scared that no matter what I do, or how good of a person I am, no one is going to remember me when I die." Her whisper is steady, but he knows the effort it must have taken her to admit she was scared, let alone that she won't be here much longer.

He leaves kisses on her neck, and he hopes she realizes they are a promise.

Kiss.

I'll never forget you.

Kiss.

I never want to forget you.

Kiss.

I couldn't forget you if I tried.

Kiss.

I love you too much to forget you.

One lingering kiss on her pulse.

If only he could say it out loud.

**. . . . . . . **

_The high is incredible. Easily, the greatest stash April ever got them. _

_Speaking of his girl, her lips leave his neck to pull back and smirk at him. Her face full or mystery and danger. _

_He smirks back wickedly and winks before pinning her to the wall of the hallway and shoving his thigh between her legs, receiving a loud moan in response. _

_She puts her hand on his shoulders and pushes him back ever so slightly, before grabbing his hand and leading him up the dusty stairs to the loft. _

_They're almost there, just one floor to go, when she jumps on him. Her strong legs wrapping themselves around his waist, her mouth heavy on his. _

_A loud cough pulls them apart; Roger turns his head to see Benny smirking at them, a large cardboard box in his hands. _

"_Going somewhere?" Roger asks, eyebrow raised._

_Benny shakes his head, "Nah, helping the new girl move in." _

"_Babe?" Roger hears from down the hall. "Do you have the last box?" _

"_Yeah, I've got it." He calls back, placing the box at his feet and turning to pull the girl into his arms as she comes into view._

_April already bored with the conversation, reattaches her lips to his neck and begins to pull him back upstairs. _

_He follows willingly, but not before his eyes catch the girl's. She's young, definitely too young to be with Benny. But after a quick glance over her body, it's obvious why Benny doesn't care. She smiles timidly as she turns and walks into the door of her new apartment. _

_There was something about her eyes he couldn't figure out, though._

_Even as April shoved him into the loft and locked the door behind her, he couldn't identify it._

_It wasn't sadness. Nor was it pain, or grief. And not quite maturity._

_It doesn't hit him until his high wears off, with April sound asleep on his chest._

_Wisdom._

**. . . . . . .**

The door to her loft is shoved open and their loud voices fill the previously quiet apartment.

"You had no fucking right, Roger!" Mimi shrieked, fury shaking her small frame. She threw her coat and bag on a chair before walking as far away from him as she can get, him following, just as angry.

"No right? Okay, next time I watch my girlfriend getting felt up by some drunk pervert I'll make sure to look the other way!" His hands are in fists, and each word comes out as a growl.

"It's my job! I have no choice!" she shoved out, the words burning her tongue, she's pretty sure each time she tells him that, he believes her less.

"You're shift was over! You were leaving and you don't even give a shit that someone-"

"Whether I am on stage or not, when I am there I need to do my job!"

Silence.

A standoff neither one is willing to back down from.

"Mimi, if you can't see what's wrong with that, you are seriously dumber than I thought." He shook his head in disgust and stalks out of her apartment.

His voice is calm, and that's what scares her the most.

There's no fight. No screaming match. No angry glares, no low blows, no accusations.

There's also no apology.

That night she falls asleep to the familiar sound of angry guitar chords from upstairs.

**. . . . . . .**

Mimi?

He blinks and she's gone.

Just like the last four times that happened.

He turns his head, hoping to stop straining his eyes against the harsh Santa Fe sun, because seriously? It's fucking _November_, it shouldn't be eighty degrees.

He never thought he'd miss freezing his ass off in the dark loft, both heat and electricity (and the rent, if you wanna get technical) going unpaid for. But he did. It's November and he hasn't seen a single snowflake and goddammit if that doesn't make him wanna hit something.

He wouldn't mind the cold winds that seem to go right through his leather jacket, he wouldn't mind having to burn everything and anything flammable in the loft to stay warm and he definitely wouldn't mind holding Mimi in his lap, her head on his chest, their arms wrapped around each other as they desperately try to keep as much body heat as possible…

_Fuck._ Stop it, Roger.

His breath catches and he can see her. Her petite body, her soft smile, her gorgeous brown eyes that he can't get out of his head. She's gone just as fast and he stopped worrying about his sanity a long time ago.

Angel's words echo through his mind, just like they have been since he walked away from Mimi at the funeral.

_Please don't hurt her, she's strong but she can only take so much more pain in her life._

He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to worry about seeing her face and be reminded that he left her like everyone else. All he can see in the darkness of his closed lids are warm, brown eyes, full of happiness and life.

Eyes full of thanks and curiosity as he wrapped the leather jacket around her, unlit candle still in her grasp.

Eyes full of amusement and playfulness that convinced him to laugh when the feeling felt foreign.

Eyes full of regret and shame that haunted him when he walked out of her apartment, the faint noise of a full needle being placed on the windowsill echoing in his ears.

Eyes full of need and passion, as he thrusts into her, his mouth over hers, swallowing both their moans.

Eyes full of betrayal and misery as welled up tears spill over and he turns his back on her, and doesn't turn around until he makes it to Santa Fe.

Eyes full of light and love that take his breath away and make his heart skip a beat.

His head falls back on the concrete wall he's playing against, one dollar bill, two dimes and a quarter in the guitar case at his feet, and an empty hole in his chest.

**. . . . . . .**

"December twelfth, 2:46pm eastern standard time, we zoom in Roger playing his Fender. Now that he's found his song, he apparently won't stop playing it." Mark narrated, pointing his camera at Roger who was glaring at him half-heartedly from the couch before turning his eyes back to the strings.

"Roger returned home from Santa Fe two days ago, expecting to see Mimi and beg for forgiveness," Mark continues, ignoring the deepening of the now permanent frown on Roger's face at Mimi's name. "But we haven't seen her in weeks; the other bohos are on their way over now to share if they have heard anything."

Mark turns the camera around to show himself, "Mimi, if you're out there, keep fighting, kiddo."

"Mark, knock it off. This isn't a joke." Roger snarled, fingers strumming a little harder than necessary, a few sour notes fill the air before he whispers, "She's probably dead by now." His fingers stopped and the loft filling with silence.

Before Mark could muster up some words he could only hope would be reassuring, Collins walked through the door, with Maureen and Joanne following behind him silently, both too drained to even consider arguing.

Collins had his lips pressed together tightly and looked like he hasn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks, and the others weren't that much better off.

After an awkward exchange of half-assed greetings they gather around the couch, voices and minds slipping into autopilot; reciting and receiving information of Mimi's whereabouts without any emotion slipping through.

"Has anyone seen her?" Roger asked, voice empty, already knowing the answer. After a simultaneous shake of four heads, Roger let his head fall into his hands. "Where the hell could she be?"

"I stopped by Catscratch the other day, to see if she was there. She wasn't." Mark added voice just as empty.

Joanne nodded, "When I spoke to the manager he said she hadn't been showing up for a while."

"Did the girl know anything?" Collins asked, turning towards Mark.

Mark hesitated just long enough for Roger's head to snap up. "What girl?"

"She was a friend of Mimi's," Mark answered. Roger clenched his teeth to hold back the scream of pain at Mark's past tense. "I talked to her when I was at the club. She asked me if I had talked to her."

"Did she say if Mimi had given her any indication of where she'd be?" Joanne asked. Roger resisted the urge to go off on her, too. This isn't one of her court cases, this is real, and so anytime she'd like to drop the formal bullshit would be fine with him. He knew Mimi meant just as much to Joanne as the rest of his friends and that was the only thing stopping the words from flowing.

That, and Joanne hasn't known him that long, and would probably take his outburst to heart, whereas the others have learned to give him air to breathe.

He hates himself for making his own friends treat him like a fucking toddler.

The filmmaker shook his head, "The only thing she knew was that she was living on the street."

There was silence as all five of them realized the freezing loft would be nothing compared to the harsh wind outside.

"I'm really starting to get worried," Joanne whispered, "It's getting cold out there, and she hasn't picked up her AZT in a while."

More silence.

"About that…"

All eyes turned to Mark.

"When I talked to her friend, she said Mimi had sold what she had left of her AZT for smack money." Mark's voice got lower as the sentence went on and was barely audible by the end.

No one's surprised when Roger storms out, slamming the door on his way.

They're even less surprised when they find him passed out on the floor of Mimi's old apartment with dried tears on his face.

**. . . . . . . **

It's December twenty-second. Three days until Christmas. And yet no matter how hard Mark's trying, he can't bring himself to give a shit. He feels like he should go see Angel but he's can't bring himself to do that either.

He's selfish and he knows it, but Mimi took his conscience with her.

He feels like he'll burst into fucking flames if he steps within a hundred foot radius of Angel. And honestly, having to sit there and tell her what's been going on might just kill him.

He can't go to the graveyard and face Angel and tell her he did everything he promised he'd never do. He can't go when he knows the one person he knew would never pass any judgment would completely loathe him by the time he left.

Mimi was like Angel's child, her best friend, her soul sister. And as much as Angel loved everyone, Mimi was her chica and you didn't mess with her if you wanted to keep living.

He knows Angel deserves more than what he's been doing. That it's fucking Christmas in three days and he should be going to see her every day and making sure she knows they haven't stopped thinking about her for a second.

In one of his safer impulsive decisions, he grabs his jacket and forces himself down the stair before he can talk himself out of it.

He could have quite possibly blacked out on his way there, he doesn't remember a single detail, but life always had a tendency to pass him by without him realizing it, and without Mimi there to make him see the value of living every day to the fullest he just doesn't care.

The first thing he notices is a leopard print about a half a mile in the distance. He lets a small smile grace his face until his eyes go wide as he realizes he's not in Santa Fe anymore, he's not hallucinating and that could quite possibly be Mimi.

He starts running toward her but stops short about ten steps in realizing he can no longer see her.

He feels his heart shatter once again.

And this time, he's unbelievably certain it's won't be glued back together.

He gets to Angel's grave and sits in silence for a good ten minutes before actually looking down at it. He whole body freezes and his heart stops beating as he reaches down and picks the small gold locket up off the frost bitten grass.

The same locket Angel gave to Mimi their first Christmas together and she never took off her neck since.

He looks back at where he thought he saw her until everything becomes blurry and the tears stream down his cold face. He knows she's gone for good this time. She's too proud to go crawling back to the loft at this point, and she won't make it much longer in the cold.

It takes everything he has not to take his life right then and there, despising that he gets to keep living on the godforsaken earth while she gets her hopeful and optimistic life snatched away from her small, worthy hands.

It's another addition to the list of times he's let her walk out of his life.

It's another addition to the list of people who have left her.

It's another addition to the list of good people who have left this world too soon, with too much unsaid and too much left to do.

What's one more disappointment to add to the list?

**A/N: I have been working on this for so long. I really don't like that Roger and Mimi's relationship isn't severely looked into. I love Angel, don't get me wrong, I understand how important her character is, but I adore Roger/Mimi so much.**

**I had to add in the other bohos periodically because I cannot publish a RENT without at least mentioning them.**

**I really enjoyed writing this story, and I would love if you could please give me some feedback. **

**Any review will be appreciated!**

**Thank you!**


End file.
